


The Only Symptom You Can See (Is I Don't Wanna Be Alive)

by Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer



Series: Prodigal Son One-Shots And Drabbles [5]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Blood, Blood and Injury, Episode: s02e07 Face Value, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt Malcolm Bright, Hurt No Comfort, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Self-Harm, Self-Harming Malcolm Bright, Spoilers for Episode: s02e07 Face Value, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer/pseuds/Lucigoosey_The_Lightbringer
Summary: His mind spins, whirling like a thunderstorm, tornadoes and lightning and rain.TW // Graphic Self Harm
Series: Prodigal Son One-Shots And Drabbles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2164734
Kudos: 38





	The Only Symptom You Can See (Is I Don't Wanna Be Alive)

Malcolm hadn't done this in years.

Not since he was a teenager. Not since before DC.

His mind spins, whirling like a thunderstorm, tornadoes and lightning and rain. His back presses hard against the bathroom door, his hands shaking as one of them curls around something cold and metal and sharp and painful, while the other braces him against the floor, holding him up.

Like a moth to a flame, he'd done it again. Tears blur his vision, burning his eyes, and despair hits him full force as his throat closes up. He doesn't want to cry. He can't cry, not over this, now. He should be relieved. He should be _so_ relieved; relieved that Ainsley hadn't actually killed anyone. But he's not. He's confused. He's hurt. He's horrified. And he is so, _so fucking scared._

What had he done to her?

_I should have told her. I should have told her the truth. I should have told her everything._

Gaslighting. Had he been doing that? He hadn't- he hadn't _meant_ to do that. Fear crawled up his stomach, into his chest and up to his throat. He'd done this. He'd done this to his baby sister. And now she's spiraling, spiraling like Malcolm had never seen before. She's cold, cruel, merciless, showing a side of her he hadn't even been aware was there - at least, not consciously? - and it's _his fault_. He can feel his stomach churn at the thought, sick with guilt and numb with horror. She hadn't killed anyone else, but now more than ever, as he wonders, truly, what she was capable of, he's realizing all too quickly that he's turned his sister into a _monster._

He _made_ her.

By trying to protect her, he'd _made_ her.

Pain splits through his hand, a blessing in disguise as it rips him from his thoughts and out of his spiral before it can begin. Liquid tickles his skin, warm and wet as it brushes against his palm. He thinks with a hint of dismay that it's going to leave a scar, but he brushes past that rather quickly. Does it matter? It wouldn't be the first time. Nobody would ask about it. Malcolm can hardly remember a time, recent, when he wasn't bruised or scarred or bleeding or bandaged. This, this he can handle. Everything else, at the moment, everything else is just… it's too much.

He lets go of the knife, though, only to pick it up with his other hand. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he lifts his arm up and rests it against them, opening his palm to look down at the blood.

 _I'm sorry, Gil._ He'd promised he wouldn't. He'd sworn he wouldn't.

_I'm sorry, Ainsley._

The knife feels heavier in his hand as he presses the blade back into his palm.


End file.
